Another Fractured Fairy Tale
by Umiko
Summary: Just what the title says.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1  
  
Human beings are nonsensical creatures. They giggle about the shapes in the shadows that frighten them; surely innocent laughter will keep all ill-willed sprites away.  
  
Yulia was no exception to this, though instead of laughing about things, she complained. The world was a dark and rainy place, and it all looked down her. She was certain of it.  
  
After all, her entire family was either dead, in prison, or in America. Except for her; she was in Paris, making a meager living as a chorus girl.  
  
To hell with relatives and broken promises; she didn't need them. After all, she was enjoying watching the current drama unfold.  
  
The so-called ghost the little ballet rats blamed whenever they missed a step had just sent the gaudy chandelier crashing down. Everyone was distraught by this tragedy but Yulia. The dark-haired girl was intrigued. Apparently, there was someone in the Opera house who found humanity more distasteful than she did.  
  
Christine made her way toward her dressing room in a daze. What had just happened? It was an accident; it had to be. Her angel would not do something like this…even if he was a man. He said he would never put her in danger; surely, dropping a chandelier at her feet was putting her danger!  
  
And where was Raoul? Why hadn't he chased after her? Was he waiting in her dressing room for her, or had he gone to speak with the managers?  
  
The young woman felt dizzy as she stumbled into her room. Her mirror hung ominously before her eyes.  
  
"Why did you do it? Why?" she whispered. Fear and anger cleared her mind, as she loudly demanded, "Why?"  
  
She was met only with silence.  
  
"Oh, God…why did this happen? He was laughing like a madman! That…thing was directed at me! What have I done to him? I sang for him! Dear God, what have I done…?"  
  
"From what I've seen, you don't appear to have offended Monsieur le Vicomte, and he couldn't possibly have caused that fixture to fall from Box 5."  
  
"Oh. Mlle. Kazakova…what are you doing here?"  
  
The rigid Russian woman closed the door behind her. "It was open."  
  
"Oh. May I help you?"  
  
"You know who caused the chandelier to fall; you know it wasn't an accident. I won't tell the old fools anything, but I want to know who did it."  
  
Christine's tear strung face was expressionless. "It was the ghost," she said simply.  
  
"Ghosts don't cackle like that! Christine Daaé, there have been for too many accidents lately. I can either quit my job here and starve, or I can stay and sing and die from fear, or perhaps another 'accident!''"  
  
"He's not angry with you."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Christine turned red. "No one."  
  
"Daaé, please be honest with me. If you're hiding something, you're endangering not only yourself but your colleagues! Surely, you realize this?"  
  
The smaller girl bowed her head.  
  
Yulia sighed. "If it was the Opera Ghost, why would he be angry with you? Usually it appears to be La Carlotta bearing the brunt of tricks."  
  
"Lucifer used to be an angel, wasn't he?"  
  
"I have little faith in ancient writings that only speak of despair; I experience enough of it daily. But, yes, I suppose you're right. Why?"  
  
"My father, he promised…but he's gone now, and he can't come back…not even I believe he can."  
  
Yulia sighed and dropped her indifferent air. "If you honor his memory, he can live in you."  
  
"But, he does live in me! I hear his voice! He lives through me!" the young woman cried, being increasingly distraught.  
  
"Your father? You hear his voice?"  
  
"I thought…Oh! But he's only a mere mortal, and I'll never see my father or my angel again! Death has claimed my father, and my angel has become Death!"  
  
"What are you talking about? Angels? Daaé, you're scaring me…"  
  
"Christine?"  
  
Both women turned to face the young Vicomte.  
  
"Oh, Raoul!" Christine threw herself into his arms, sobbing.  
  
"I'm sorry I took so long, Christine. I went with the managers to try and find the villain who did this."  
  
Christine's crying became more hysterical. "They're dead! Lost, lost…we're all lost!"  
  
"Christine, calm down. No one was injured or killed," Raoul said soothingly.  
  
"Music has been killed…by my tongue!" she proclaimed with a horrified realization.  
  
Yulia stepped forward. "You must help her, Monsieur. She must have a terrible fever." With that, she exited the dressing room, leaving a bewildered Vicomte and a terrified Christine. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Yulia was loitering about the Opera House later that week. It was raining out, and in the cool summer shower she refused to go outside without her cloak, which she had conveniently left at her flat.  
  
The Opera was not reopening until the next week due to the chandelier incident, and the majority o f the people were still quite shaken up, and as a result, were doing very little practicing. That was why it caught Yulia off guard when she found Meg Giry dancing alone on stage.  
  
Yulia took a seat in the back of the auditorium and politely applauded when the younger girl had finished her dance.  
  
"Oh!" she squeaked. "I'm sorry; I didn't know you were here."  
  
Yulia nodded and walked toward her. "That's fine. I was just curious…you're Christine Daaé's friend, are you not?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"She babbling on about her father and angels a few nights ago. Do you have any idea what she meant by it?"  
  
Meg's gaze turned towards Box 5 for a moment, faltered, and then returned to Yulia. "Not here," she hissed.  
  
"I think there's something wrong with her. She always used to have her head in the clouds, and I avoided her because of that, but I think she's really disturbed."  
  
"I'll talk to you tomorrow…but not here."  
  
"Why not? Why are you whispering?"  
  
"The Ghost…he'll hear."  
  
"The Ghost?" Yulia asked, louder. "Monsieur le Fantome! It isn't polite to eavesdrop! If you care about this opera and its performers, leave us be!"  
  
Yulia grinned, only to find Meg several shades paler.  
  
"Are you mad? He'll come after you!"  
  
"Why should I fear the dead?"  
  
"He'll kill you," Meg said matter-of-factly.  
  
Yulia sighed. "As I said, why should I fear him?"  
  
"You look tired."  
  
"I got home late, "Yulia answered, sipping her tea. "Now, about Daaé ?"  
  
Little Meg sighed, and reluctantly explained. "When she was a child, Christine's papa said he would send her the Angel of Music to teach her after he died. Christine told me that she has been receiving lessons from an angel, but…she seemed excited and fearful at the same time. I…I don't know how to help her. She always lived in a dream, but now, it seems, she won't, or can't, wake up."  
  
"Maybe she should just marry her suitor and get away from the Opera. Between her belief in this angel and all the ghost stories…it can't be good for her."  
  
"Why are you suddenly so concerned for her? You rarely spoke to anyone until the chandelier fell…"  
  
Yulia glared at her, and Meg shut her mouth. "Does the Ghost ever play tricks?"  
  
Meg giggled slightly. "You saw what happened to Carlotta!"  
  
"That's not what I meant. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that the Opera Ghost is real. Now, the Opera business in very superficial; if I had to spend my afterlife at one, I'd go mad! Perhaps…this ghost became bored, and decided to toy with impressionable chorus girls? Daaé seems fit to believe whatever she's told. Her innocence is her gift and her downfall."  
  
Meg shook her head. "I think…No, that can't be. The Opera Ghost isn't some bored little trickster. You still don't believe in him."  
  
"Why should I?"  
  
"Because if you don't, he'll make you."  
  
Yulia stood up. "Here is the money for my meal; I must go." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Nearly a week after her luncheon with Meg Giry, Yulia decided that Christine had had enough time to calm down. The girl obviously knew more than she was admitting to her colleagues and her vicomte, and her mysterious behavior was beginning to irk Yulia more than her usual flightiness did.  
  
"Christine Daaé, are you there?" Yulia called, rapping lightly on her dressing room door. "Daaé, open up! Giry said you haven't left yet!" Annoyed that she was being ignored, Yulia deftly turned the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked. "Christine? Daaé, where are you?" Hearing voices coming towards her, Yulia hid in a corner of the dark room.  
  
"I'm fine, really, Meg," Christine said.  
  
"But you've been avoiding everyone…even Monsieur le Vicomte, even me!" the little ballerina chirped with concerned.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Oh, Christine…you're so pale…you've never looked this worn."  
  
"I'm perfectly fine. Good night, Meg." Christine closed the door on her friend and lit a lamp, forcing Yulia to shrink farther back in her corner; she was in no mood to explain why she had been hiding in Christine's dressing room.  
  
"You still hear me, don't you? You're still watching me, like a snake! The least you could do is answer me!"  
  
Yulia, fearing Christine knew of her presence, ran through several explanations until she noticed the chorus girl address her mirror.  
  
"I'm not worth it, you know…I'm not worth your instruction, your adoration, your lo—" She stopped and shook her head. "I forgive you for lying to me; I'd still be your pupil if you had left it there. I still wanted to be your pupil, I still do…but you must cease this madness! You would kill Raoul, wouldn't you? But you know I'd kill myself then, too. And he…he wants to take me somewhere safe. I'm nothing but a caged bird to both of you!" she cried.  
  
"But you…you frighten me. Be my angel again, please. I know you hear me! You've grown so cold…I can feel it in the air around me. Oh, God! Erik, don't leave me like this, enduring this horrific fear daily! Perhaps it would be for the best if you really do disappear, become a real phantom…No! No! I didn't mean that! I'm sorry! Forgive me, Angel of Music! Your are music…all the pain and anger…I'm sorry, I can't stay like this…Answer me!"  
  
She continued to stand in front of the mirror for several long moments, and then finally she dosed her lamp and left the room.  
  
Cramped, Yulia crawled out from her hiding space. So, Daaé's angel was the Opera Ghost! What a valuable piece of information that was. And he had a name, too. Erik…  
  
Yulia re-lit the lamp and went to examine the mirror. If Christine's inane ranting true, then this man was somehow watching her, and given the direction of her speech, the large piece of glass had something to do with it. Yulia pushed the glass and stepped back, but nothing happened.  
  
"Hello?" she whispered. "Monsieur Erik?" she asked, louder.  
  
Scowling, she began to run her hands along the edges on the mirror, until she cut her hand on a sharp edge. Bandaging it with a handkerchief from Christine's dressing table, she pushed down on the concealed switch.  
  
The mirror swung open like a door, revealing a dark passageway. Yulia took the lamp and peered down it.  
  
"Oh, well isn't this lovely," she muttered. She pulled up on the switch, closing the mirror. She blew out the lamp, and headed to her home to dwell on her new discovery. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
"Good morning!"  
  
Christine turned, startled. "Oh, Yulia. Hello. You're not usually here this early."  
  
"You appear awfully tired, Daaé. Didn't you sleep well?" Yulia asked sweetly.  
  
Christine sighed. "I've had a great deal to think about, recently."  
  
"Ah…"  
  
The younger woman bit her lip, then asked, "Is there something I can help you with?"  
  
Yulia's face lit up. "No, no, nothing, really…I was just wondering if you could tell M. Erik that I need to speak with him."  
  
"Oh, I—How do you know about Erik?" she demanded in a hushed voiced.  
  
Yulia's face took on a satisfied smirk. "I'm a chorus girl, Daaé! We all know about the Opera Ghost! And it seems you know him very well, indeed."  
  
"Quiet! He'll hear! What do you want?"  
  
"I want you to tell him not to repeat another chandelier incident, or any other destructive activities."  
  
"I haven't spoken to him for quite some time…maybe he's given up…"  
  
"On what?"  
  
"Nothing! Nothing, at all!"  
  
Yulia nodded. "I see. So, what do you do with him in your dressing room?"  
  
Poor Christine turned red. "Mlle. Kazakova! He is—was—merely giving me singing lessons..."  
  
"And you've done very well, recently. Your teacher is to be commended. You hear that, Phantom! Your humble servant is giving you a compliment!"  
  
"Hush!" Christine cried.  
  
"I will, for now. Just be sure there are no more 'accidents'…"  
  
"He won't listen to me! Don't you understand…?"  
  
Yulia collapsed in her dressing room after rehearsal. As she went to organize her music, she noticed a small envelope on her dressing table. She opened it to find a slanted red scrawl:  
  
Mlle. Kazakova,  
  
I am working and do not wished to be disturbed. Hold your tongue or lose your position in this Opera House.  
  
-O.G.  
  
Yulia crumbled the foul note and burned it. "I left home in hope of speaking my mind; am I forbidden that privilege here, as well? Don't let your fixation with Daaé endanger the rest of us, Monsieur!" she shouted.  
  
She sunk to the floor. "Damn you, Monsieur, for what you've done! God damn you!" 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Yulia spent that night slaving over a rebuttal to the Opera Ghost. The girl did not handle tension well, and being threatened with losing her job certainly did not bode well. Perhaps she should not have insinuated that Daaé was having an affair with the man, but her tactless nature and the fact that he not only had a two-way mirror, but a secret passage into Christine's dressing room as well, certainly left few assumptions for the casual viewer.  
  
Finally, at three o'clock in the morning, Yulia was satisfied with the wording of her letter. It was actually a hidden apology for her behavior, but at quick glance, it would have looked defensive. She really didn't care how this Erik chose to view it.  
  
Exhausted, Yulia crawled into her small bed and tried again to place together what she knew. A man named Erik was living within the Opera House pretending to be a ghost. Perhaps he was merely an eccentric. Granted, a violent eccentric, what with dropping chandeliers and all. However, he obviously had a small, albeit twisted, sense of humor; no humorless man would make a pompous diva croak like a toad! And then, of course, there was the connection to Daaé. That was what puzzled Yulia. Though he was clearly quite insane, he also had to be very clever to pull of the existence he led. The young woman sighed. And why was he concealing himself? And furthermore, why did she even care to begin with?  
  
Because it was dangerous, and that made it exciting. Yulia suddenly became very disgusted with herself. She was pursuing a recluse, and making a fellow chorus member's life miserable, because she was bored with her dull and pessimistic existence.  
  
Her eyes began to ache as she fought against tears; crying showed weakness. If she wanted to survive, if she wanted to gain stature, she could not be weak. And if she planned to deliver her letter tomorrow, she certainly could not have a faltering resolve.  
  
The next day, when she was sure Christine had left for the day, Yulia calmly made her way into Christine's dressing room, which never seemed to be locked.  
  
Having found the proper hidden switch on the mirror, Yulia took the lamp off of Christine's dressing table and defiantly made her way down the unknown passage to deliver her letter.  
  
Noticing a distinct drop in temperature, Yulia became concerned as she pondered just how deep, and how far, this winding road would take her.  
  
After nearly shattering her ankle twice, she ended up on the shore of a subterranean lake. Shivering slightly, she whispered, "M. Erik?"  
  
Clearing her throat, she called, a bit louder, "M. Erik!"  
  
Vexed at having received no reply, she explained her purpose, "Monsieur, I have a letter for you! Goddamn you, sir, answer me! I could've gotten killed walking through your little maze! M. Erik, will you please…Ah—!"  
  
Yulia was suddenly swung hard from behind, and felt a noose tightening around her neck.  
  
"Inquisitive little child, you are, Mademoiselle. Didn't I tell you I was working and did not wish be disturbed?" a voice hissed in her ear.  
  
Yulia lost hold of her note, and sputter helplessly, "Read the…please! Air…"  
  
He forcibly released her and she fell to the ground as he went to examine her letter. As the man read her note, Yulia was filled with mixed feelings of icy fear, respect, and awe. This phantom was tall, wore formal clothes, a flowing cloak, and a felt hat. Certainly not the ragged eccentric she had expected.  
  
After several minutes, Yulia ventured, "Do you accept my apology, Monsieur?"  
  
He turned to face her, and she was struck by the expressionlessness of his mask. "Yulia Alexandrovna Kazakova, I shall not accept your apology until you heed my wishes; you apology to Mlle. Daaé and hold your tongue around her. Then, you can rest assured that your safety and your career at this establishment will be safe. I assume you can find your way out?"  
  
"Yes, Monsieur."  
  
"And I know I can be assured of your silence?"  
  
"Of course, sir! Your presence is a fundamental part of this Opera! Without you, why, we'd simply seize to function as a company!"  
  
"I've no use for your shallow lies; keep your knowledge to yourself, or else, you know what I am capable of."  
  
"You needn't fear, sir. You have silence without threats."  
  
"Very well; now, go!"  
  
Having been given such a direct command, even Yulia wasn't fool enough to disobey. 


	6. Chapter 6

Note: Okay, Yulia is going to start plotting in this chapter, but don't worry; I promise this won't be another woman story. I swear! So…don't flame…  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Yulia sat down on her bed, shaking. He was going to kill her! He was actually prepared to kill her! He said she would be safe so long she didn't insult Christine, which meant she wouldn't last more than a week.  
  
The young woman sighed. She was sarcastic by nature, and she hardly ever meant what she said. And furthermore…a man living by an underground lake beneath the Opera House was of the fantastical. She wanted to see him again. Ordinary men were dull and hurtful, but this man was far from ordinary. Every other man ignored her; this one was willing to kill her, which meant he had to focus at least some attention on her.  
  
But Yulia wasn't prepared to die, yet. Therefore, she decided there was nothing worth with calling on him again to explain her personality so he wouldn't wrongly strangle her.  
  
Finally feeling calmer, Yulia changed and went to sleep.  
  
After a long day of rehearsal, Yulia watched for Christine to leave and then quietly made her way down to the lake. Instead of calling for Erik, she was struck dumb by the thunderous music that poured out from across the lake. She had never heard anything like it; it was playful and mocking on one level, and devastated, humiliated, painful, and passionate at another. It surrounded her, captured her, stripped her senses bare; she sunk to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.  
  
Suddenly, Yulia felt herself being pulled to her feet.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
She looked at him, feeling a hundred miles from her body. "You…are you mad? That music…you can't play that music!"  
  
"It is from my opera, Yulia Alexandrovna; I wrote it."  
  
"An opera? You can't play that in front of people! It's dangerous…Oh, my God! My God!" she cried.  
  
"Enough of this foolishness! Why are you still crying?" he demanded.  
  
"Whatever happened to you to make to write something like that?"  
  
"It's a comedy, Yulia Alexandrovna."  
  
"It' so much more, and you know it. You know what you're doing! If anyone's ever lost something, someone…it'll tear their hearts out!"  
  
"You've merely heard a sampling; you don't even know what it's about. You don't know anything! Why are you here, Yulia Alexandrovna?"  
  
"I…I wanted to tell you that…"  
  
"I'm waiting, Mlle. Kazakova."  
  
His glare was paralyzing her. Her continued sobbing clearly wasn't helping soothe his temper, either.  
  
"I'm sorry…but…that sound…I can't say…"  
  
"Stop wasting my time, child! I must finish my Don Juan Triumphant…"  
  
"What?" she asked abruptly. "Why would you write about such a disgusting man?"  
  
He smirked. "A comedy-drama about the famous lover will surely delight the Parisians. Perhaps it because you are not French, that you do not understand."  
  
"Poshol na khui!"  
  
"Hold your tongue, Yulia Alexandrovna! I've warned you about it before!"           
  
"Forgive me, Monsieur, but it is my nature! Now, good day to you, and be careful with that music!"  
  
"Mlle. Kazakova!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Never let me see you down here again," he warned.  
  
Yulia stared at the masked man in evening clothes for several long moments before nodding and heading home.  
  
Yulia scowled as she sipped her tea. He was not composing a frivolous opera for the masses, but a dangerous combination of sex, anger, and pain. It frightened her. Still, she had yet to hear any lyrics to it, and she doubted she ever would. She hoped that it stayed locked away in the cellars, where it would never threateningly entice the human spirit like the serpent and Eve.  
  
She slammed her cup down. This Erik fascinated her as much as he terrified her, and her curiosity was winning the battle.  
  
She sighed. All his actions centered around Christine, who had the young vicomte for a suitor. Judging from that music, the man held deeper secrets than she originally thought. Sweet, innocent little Christine would never be able to live around such a force.  
  
Unfortunately, the Opera ghost didn't seem to realize that.  
  
Then, Yulia's twisted mind began to format a plan. Christine did not have anyone she was really close to, save Raoul de Changy and her Angel of Music. If she lost Raoul, she would undoubtedly go to her angel, even if she was afraid of him. However, she wouldn't be able to stay long, as her fear would overcome her. Then, Erik would be left alone and miserable, and then she could step in. She wasn't sure what she wanted with this man, only that she wanted to learn more about him.  
  
It was selfish, in a way, as well. If she was with him, she wouldn't have to deal with the superficial world of men. The phantom had created his own world, a beautiful, terrifying one, that entranced her senses and promised her freedom and liberation.  
  
Yulia grinned slyly. This would be a cruel operation, but it would benefit Erik, if only by having him get over Daaé.  
  
For now, though, all she had to do was figure out how to handle the small matter of Raoul de Changy. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
"Have you thought of a costume, yet?" Meg asked as dazed Yulia.  
  
"Hmm? What?"  
  
"A costume for the masked ball, silly!"  
  
"But, that's over four months away…"  
  
"Yes, but you need to start soon. You're costume must be as elaborate as possible!"  
  
"What are you going as?"  
  
Meg faltered. "Um, it's a surprise."  
  
Yulia nodded. "I see. Well, so is mine. Oh, for heaven's sake, stop twitching like that! Can't any of you ballet rats stand still?"  
  
The younger girl grinned. "You need to take things less seriously. I'm going to lunch with Monsieur le Vicomte and Christine. Would you like to join us?"  
  
"If it's their luncheon, shouldn't they invite me?" Yulia asked.  
  
Meg considered this for a long time. "No."  
  
Yulia ate and conversed with rigid formality as she still tried to decide how to handle Raoul. Although he seemed like a genuinely sweet young man, he still took the finer things in life for granted. Lost in thought, she completely missed jovial Christine's lack of chatter until Meg brought it up.  
  
"Christine, what's wrong?"  
  
In a hushed voice, she explained, "I haven't heard a word out of him. I think he may be plotting something terrible, Meg."  
  
"Oh, Christine! There's no such things as ghosts!" Raoul exclaimed.  
  
"Then how do you explain a chandelier being dropped at her feet?" Meg asked dryly, and, upon realizing what she had said, turned profusely red and covered her mouth with her hands.  
  
Yulia laughed. "You should listen to M. le Vicomte, Daaé. However, little Giry is right. If you're in so much danger, why haven't you left the Opera House?"  
  
Christine and Raoul looked at each other.  
  
"Weren't we supposed to?" Christine asked.  
  
"I—" Raoul stroked his chin as he pondered the matter. "There haven't been any more incidents," he finally concluded, "therefore, there is no reason to leave. You're safe, Christine, I promise; I won't let anything happen to you."  
  
Yulia smiled sweetly. "Oh, Daaé, you're so lucky to have a man like Monsieur le Vicomte! I'm sure that if the Opera ghost ever came after you, he'd be willing to fight to the death for you! Oh, it's so romantic! Wouldn't you, Monsieur?"  
  
"Uh—yes, yes, of course!"  
  
Christine and Meg stared at him.  
  
"He won't come after you Christine. Trust me, you're perfectly safe!"  
  
Christine stood up abruptly, and Raoul awkwardly stood in suit with her.  
  
"It's alright, Raoul. I'm just going to freshen up a bit."  
  
As she left, Meg demanded, "You won't let anything happen to you, will you, Monsieur le Vicomte?"  
  
"I'm sure Monsieur le Vicomte is as valiant as his noble birth suggests," Yulia said.  
  
"I'll protect her; I won't let that fiend anywhere near her. As for you two, please, you may call 'Raoul,'" he said.  
  
"It's not just the ghost; Daaé has…issues. She still thinks like a child. She's sweet and innocent, but she's so naïve…I don't think she's ready to grow up yet, to be a mother…" Yulia commented.  
  
Raoul seemed to notice the stress of her words and withdrew into thought. Meg, on the other hand, was eager for lighter conversation, and Yulia politely obliged.  
  
Over the next few weeks, Yulia did her utmost to go slightly over social courtesy towards Raoul and Christine, in and out of the Opera, but never reaching the chipper extremes of the ballet rats and younger chorus girls. She was, to all appearances, concerned for Christine and flattering towards Raoul. Secretly, Yulia complimented herself on her fine acting abilities. It was a slow process, but it was heading along nicely. Doubt, even subconsciously, was edging its way into the young vicomte's mind.  
  
Needless to say, Yulia was a bit shocked when she discovered a blank envelope in her dressing room. Scowling, she opened it, wondering what she had done wrong this time.  
  
Dear Yulia Alexandrovna,  
  
I compliment you for you behavior towards Mlle. Daaé. I merely hope that your words of friendship to her are sincere.  
  
As a personal note to you, put some emotion in your singing. Your ambitious dreams of promotion will never be met unless you become your part, however small it is.  
  
-O.G.  
  
Yulia glared at the red ink disdainfully. Seizing a pen, she wrote a quick note at the bottom of her letter.  
  
My dearest M. Erik,  
  
I would not play with Mlle. Daaé's fragile heart and mind by offering false friendship. On the matter of my singing, you should send you complaints to the chorus master; he complained that I sounded too depressed.  
  
Yours,  
  
Y. A. Kazakova  
  
With that, she resealed the envelope and left it on her dresser. She decided not to wonder how he had slipped it into her room. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
  
  
"You did well today, Yulia!" Christine complimented cheerfully.  
  
Yulia opened the door to her dressing room. "How so? You're voice still has more clarity than mine, and a larger range."  
  
"You have more strength with the lower notes," Christine said as they two women entered the room.  
  
"In any case, you come off better on stage. I look like a mannequin."  
  
"But I get so nervous when I go on—He's here!"  
  
"Who?"  
  
Christine's eyes darted about the room. "He's here!" she repeated frantically.  
  
"There is no one in here besides us."  
  
"It's so cold…he's here, I know it! He's listening to us!"  
  
"Well, maybe he'll find a way to raise our salaries." Yulia said absently as she unpinned her hair. Then, she noted the envelope from the last night was gone. She sighed and focused on her task.  
  
Christine continued to frantically examine the room.  
  
Yulia grinned wickedly. "Monsieur le Fantome won't bother you here, Daaé."  
  
"Why?" Christine asked, confused.  
  
The young Russian woman threw her dark wavy hair over her shoulder dramatically. "Because I am La Carlotta, greatest frog soprano in the land! Monsieur le Fantome doesn't appreciate my beautiful voice. Ah-ah-ah-AH!"  
  
Christine winced slightly as Yulia purposely hit the high note off key, then began to giggle. "Perhaps you'd be a better off as an actress than as a chorus girl."  
  
"An actress? Where? In America? No, Daaé, I've had quite enough trouble learning French; English would just be inhumane. I mean, with 'gh' pronounced as 'f' and all…"  
  
Christine began to genuinely laugh, which oddly began to lift Yulia's cynical spirits as well.  
  
"I feel better now; I think your, uh, 'singing' scared him off." Christine smiled. "Thank you, Yulia."  
  
"No need. Now then, little Giry brought the issue of the masquerade, and I was wondering…who are you going as?"  
  
Christine grinned. "It's a surprise…I don't want anyone telling Raoul."  
  
"Ah, Monsieur le Vicomte…I see."  
  
"I think you should wear Russian folk costume."  
  
Yulia scoffed. "And be laughed at by the aristocratic Parisians? Never! Perhaps, I'll dress as a soldier. Now that would shock the masses!"  
  
"You can't dress as a man!" Christine cried, slightly horrified.  
  
Yulia laughed. "Don't worry, I'm come up with something creative…Lord, I wish these opera weren't so long and frivolous! Rehearsal is so dull. Look, it's nearly eight o'clock!"  
  
"That's because we've been talking. You seem happier, lately," Christine observed.  
  
"Yes, I love it when things go well for me…" Yulia mused.  
  
"Well, I suppose we should leave…I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Yulia walked Christine to the door. "If your mysterious ghost is bothering you in you're dressing room, come get me."  
  
Christine nodded in thanks and left, but as Yulia went back into her dressing room, she felt what Christine had before; someone was watching her.  
  
She sighed and began to pin her hair back up.  
  
"You're really scaring her, you know. Stalking her behind the walls is not the way to improve whatever relationship you hope to establish with her," Yulia commented to the air.  
  
"It's not often I get a reply to my letters."  
  
Yulia stood up as that voice whirled around her and commanded her attention.  
  
"Monsieur, this is ridiculous! I don't know how you're getting around the Opera, and I don't want to know, but if you want to speak with me, face me like an adult!"  
  
A soft chuckle echoed through the room. Yulia scowled. "Like an adult, Yulia Alexandrovna? You're still a child."  
  
"Are you watching me?" she asked.  
  
"No, I have no viewpoint into your room."  
  
"What about Daaé's?" she demanded.  
  
"That is not your concern."  
  
"Very well; I trust that you're a gentleman, despite your…eccentricities."  
  
"Perhaps you should spend more time with the ballet rats; your tone of voice is not as it should be," he commented.  
  
"Are you afraid of me? After all, I'm just an ignorant woman, and you're a man."  
  
"You're not ignorant; you are merely tactless."  
  
"You've a dry wit, Monsieur."  
  
"And yours is like acid. I trust that you will contain to build your friendship with Mlle. Daaé, and that you will advise her to listen to her heart when she is faced with a difficult decision."  
  
"What else has she got to listen to? Her mind? She's an empty headed sort." There was a long pause. "That was a joke, sir," Yulia ventured.  
  
"As I said, you have an acid wit. I hope you'll mind your manners in public."  
  
"Haven't I been?"  
  
Yulia heard a tired sigh fill the room. "On a final note, Yulia Alexandrovna, while I was…amused by your interpretation of managers' choice of a prima donna, I trust that I shall not hear such a display on stage?"  
  
"Again, it was a joke, sir."  
  
"You might benefit if you made less 'jokes,'" he stated.  
  
"Can you please step in here. I feel quite mad talking to just a voice," Yulia said.  
  
"Then I shall end your torment. Just remember what I said about Mlle. Daaé."  
  
"'Hold your tongue or else.' Yes, yes…and it's not that I don't enjoy talking to you, Monsieur, but I'd like to see you. And stop worrying; I extend an honest friendship to Daaé."  
  
"You're pert, young miss. Good night."  
  
"Sleep well, Monsieur," Yulia said brightly.  
  
Yulia found it difficult to get to sleep. The masked ball almost two months away, and she still had no costume. And then, of course, there was the matter of her strange conversation with the ever mysterious M. Erik. He kept enticing her curiosity, and it was driving her insane. She wasn't sure what to think of him.  
  
And then there was Daaé. She was beginning to worry that she actually was becoming friends with the dream-ridden chorus girl. She slammed her fist against her pillow. She was also warming up to Raoul and even Meg. Why did everything have to be so complicated.  
  
It was all Erik's fault, of course. If didn't live as a ghost, if he didn't have such a commanding air, if he wasn't so interesting, she wouldn't have had to bother with such scheming.  
  
Yulia knew she was rationalizing, but she didn't care; it helped her sleep. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
Yulia cursed herself as she fumbled around her tiny kitchen. What on earth had possessed her to cook dinner for Christine, Raoul, and Meg? However, she was determined to put on a good show and at the very least, everything would be edible. It was not that she could not cook well, it was merely a matter of not being able to cook French food well.  
  
She sighed and wiped the sweat from her brow. She wondered if the vicomte would even come, though he probably would, if only for Christine's sake.  
  
At least she had finally decided a masquerade costume, which was good, as the masked ball was less than a month away now.  
  
After several laborious hours, Yulia set the table and went to straighten her hair and change into more formal clothes.  
  
When her guests finally arrived, the girl was exhausted, but managed to play hostess properly.  
  
Christine seemed happier and more rested than she had in months, as did Raoul. Meg Giry was her normal, chattering self. While the ballet dancer and Christine exchanged Opera House gossip, Yulia succeeded in luring Raoul into a political debate, which he lost.  
  
As they were preparing to leave, Christine said, "Raoul, please don't wait for me; I need to speak with Yulia about something."  
  
The young man stared at her. "Christine, I'll escort home; it's late as it is…"  
  
Christine smiled warmly and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be fine, Raoul. Goodnight Meg, goodnight, Raoul."  
  
Raoul hesitated, but little Giry dragged him out of Yulia's flat.  
  
"Oh, Yulia, I'm so happy!" Christine exclaimed.  
  
"I've noticed."  
  
She clasped Yulia's hands in her own. "He's purposed to me, Yulia! I'm engaged!"  
  
Yulia's jaw dropped.  
  
"Is something wrong?"  
  
"No, no! I'm just shocked…Oh, Christine, that's…wonderful."  
  
She grinned. "A new life for the new year…it's like an early Christmas present!"  
  
"I'm sure it is…" Yulia muttered.  
  
"Have you made a costume yet?"  
  
"Yes, one that will truly be…nostalgic for the Parisians."  
  
"I can't remember ever being this happy!"  
  
"What about when you first heard your angel speak?"  
  
Christine paled. "You don't think he…knows, do you? Of course not! He's gone! Gone, gone, gone…"  
  
"Calm down," Yulia said firmly.  
  
The chorus girl obeyed.  
  
Yulia gave her a false smile. "I've very happy for you, Daaé, I really am. You're very lucky." She looked her over. "Didn't he give you a ring?"  
  
The other woman pulled a chain out from under her collar. "It's a secret, for now. You won't tell anyone, will you?"  
  
"I won't tell a living soul."  
  
Christine sighed dreamily. "Oh, it's so late! I'd forgotten you had to do all this cooking by yourself! Do you need help cleaning up?"  
  
"No, I'll be fine."  
  
"Alright, right. Goodnight, and thank you!"  
  
Yulia paced around her tiny home like an agitated cat. They had succeeded in ruining her well-thought-out plan! Blast them! If they were engaged, then the vicomte must have put his doubts aside, or maybe…  
  
Yulia sipped her tea and began to plot again. Perhaps, he had purposed simply to take Daaé's mind off of the ghost; after all, once they were married, he could make her leave the Opera House. Maybe, he had purposed so quickly out of fear that his childhood friend really was beginning to lose her mind. If they married, then he would be the prince coming to save the princess from her captor.  
  
And where did that leave her? Yulia smiled slightly. "I suppose I'll play the witch," she thought. And what better place to play her game than at the masked ball?  
  
"A victim's ball, indeed," she said to herself, satisfied. She would get Raoul away from Daaé, she would run to Erik, and then she would leave. Raoul would no doubt want his fiancé back, and the ghost would be lost in despair. Then she would step in, deliver him, and he, in turn, would give her refuge from the frivolous world of men. Yulia smiled. Everything would be fine, since everyone would be happy. She was sure of it. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10  
  
"So, how do I look?" Christine asked hesitantly.  
  
"And I?" Meg piped up.  
  
Yulia surveyed both young woman as they stood before her in their masquerade garb. "I see Persephone and a wood nymph before me. You both look wonderful."  
  
They smiled. "And when do we see your costume? What go you possibly be to need your hair piled up like that?" Meg asked.  
  
"I'll be there shortly; I want to make an entrance," Yulia said.  
  
"You're so dramatic!" Christine exclaimed while Meg examined herself in Christine's floor length dressing room mirror.  
  
There was a knock at the door. "Mademoiselle?"  
  
Christine a quick look at Yulia's bag, then went to greet Raoul.  
  
"Such lovely ladies in my midst! I truly am blest! Wonderful friends and beautiful fian—"  
  
"Shh!" Christine hissed.  
  
Raoul gave her a bewildered stare for a moment, then examine Yulia. "Mlle. Kazakova, aren't you coming?"  
  
"I lack a man at my side, so I intend to make an grand exhibit of myself; I'll be there shortly, Monsieur le Vicomte."  
  
"Hurry up, Yulia! Come on, you two! We can't miss any of the ball!" Meg cried, dragging the couple out of the room.  
  
With them gone, Yulia changed into her costume and administered her make-up. She then tied a bright red ribbon around her neck.  
  
When she found her appearance acceptable, and went to leave, when a wry voice asked, "Going as a daughter of the guillotine, my dear?"  
  
Yulia whirled around. "You watched me dress, monsieur?"  
  
"Of course not! What do you take me for?"  
  
"I wouldn't have minded if you had. May I see you now?"  
  
"You'll see me soon enough."  
  
"Well, in that case, M. Erik, I must be off. I promised Daaé and the Vicomte that I wouldn't miss their celebration."  
  
He laughed mildly. "I doubt the management would throw this type of a party to honor only one of their patrons."  
  
"Oh? You don't know, yet, do you?" Yulia asked innocently.  
  
"What do you mean?" the ghostly voice demanded.  
  
Yulia kept her expression blank. "Daaé and the Vicomte de Changy are engaged, Monsieur le Fantome."  
  
Yulia was completely unprepared for the cry of rage and grief that seemed to take the room and her with it into the depths of hell and deeper.  
  
"Are you going to be alright, sir?" she asked out of genuine concern.  
  
"Go to your ball, Yulia Alexandrovna. Go!"  
  
Yulia bowed to the mirror and quickly obeyed.  
  
"Hello, oh—Yulia, my, your costume is so…" Christine faltered.  
  
"Dear God, you look like you're off to a bal du victimes!" Raoul exclaimed.  
  
Yulia's dark hair was curled on top of her head, adorned by a silver tiara. She wore a high-collared, but low-cut sixteenth century-style gown of crushed velvet the color of dried blood with layers of black lace. Her eyes were heavily lined and her lips were as red as the ribbon around her neck; her face had been powdered dead white. She looked positively vampiric.  
  
She put on her black lace mask that only covered the area around her eyes. "One night of freedom, my friends! Raoul, may I please have just one dance with my friend's dashing fiancé?"  
  
Raoul obliged.  
  
"She looks like an undead bride! Meg, why the red cord?" Christine asked.  
  
Meg shrugged. "I suppose, to indicate that her head's been severed."  
  
Christine paled. "Oh."  
  
And so the party continued, with all the lavish gaiety that would be expected. Then, suddenly, the music halted, and Yulia turned to the grand staircase to see a red specter descend down it, tossing a score to one of the managers. It then approached Christine, tearing the chain that held her engagement ring from her neck. Yulia felt a pang of guilt. But then, the apparition disappeared, and chaos broke out. Meg ran to Christine, as the vicomte chased after Mme. Giry. A baffled Yulia headed to Daaé's dressing room.  
  
  
  
A/N: Okay, quick question: should Yulia see or not see poor Erik without his mask? It really isn't vital to the plot, so I'll leave it up to you. The good point is she isn't the type to run away screaming, however, she's not exactly empathetic, either. So, please r/r! ^_^;; 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11  
  
Yulia, feeling uncharacteristically guilty, rushed to Christine's dressing room and was relieved the girl had forgotten, again, to lock it. Dropping off her masquerade mask in the room, she triggered the mirror mechanism and rushed through the dark passageways down to the concealed lake. There, she found a boat moored on the lake, and it dawned on her that the ghost had to have more than one way into his domain.  
  
She looked at the black water grimly. She knew what one was supposed to do while swimming, but she had never tried it, and if she fell in, her heavy costume would surely weigh her down anyway.  
  
Mustering her courage, she pushed the boat into the water, grabbed the pole, and gingerly stepped in, nearly screaming as it rocked beneath her. After taking several minutes to assure her balance, she slowly poled her way across the forbidding water.  
  
After safely docking, she silently approached the structure that stood before her. As she ventured inside, she saw pieces of the Red Death costume strewn about. As she continued to creep through the abode, she finally found Erik with his back to her, sitting huddled on the floor in the middle of various musical scores. He wore only a shirt and pants, instead of his usual formal attire. When Yulia noticed his shoulders shaking, she wasn't sure whether to feel pity or disgust; he, a man, was crying, after making such a dreadful spectacle at the masked ball? Then she remembered the score he had thrown to the manager, and her original conflicting emotions from the first time she had heard his Don Juan played resurfaced, this time manifesting as anger rather than hysterical sobbing.  
  
"You idiot! What did you think you were doing? I told you that music is dangerous! You can't expect them to—"  
  
He whirled about and faced her; Yulia inhaled sharply at seeing his unmasked face.  
  
As he advanced towards her, she stumbled backwards and fumbled, "My, you…ah, um, look like, a, um, err…an impressionist painting!"  
  
"You! Didn't I warn you never to come down here again? You came to gawk at me? What were you thinking?" he demanded.  
  
"You have very lovely eyes, " Yulia said dumbly.  
  
He grabbed her wrist. "You little bitch! You think you can meddle in the affairs of the Opera ghost?"  
  
"Let me go," Yulia pleaded quietly.  
  
"Why? So you can run away and tell the ballet rats what you've seen? So you can tell the managers where the monster lives? Why do you want to run, Yulia Alexandrovna? You were never afraid of me, before!" He laughed. "Of course you weren't. What did you take me for? A recluse? Some eccentric Bohemian? Oh, but now you know better, don't you? Stop struggling, girl! What do you think I'm going to do to you?"  
  
"It doesn't matter…if you wanted to kill me, I couldn't stop you; if you wanted to do anything else, I wouldn't try to stop you."  
  
He forcibly threw her to the ground. "You stupid little whore! If you think I would ever…"  
  
"Stop being so damn self-righteous!" Yulia snapped.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me! If you want to live in this prison, fine! All you care about your pain, your self-pity!"  
  
"And just what do you know about my pain, Yulia Alexandrovna? Do you have any idea what it's like to live like this, scorned and hated by everyone?" he demanded.  
  
"Your pain is what keeps you alive! You lived for Daaé, and now you live for your own misery, because you can't have what you want. You're like a spoiled child! You're pathetic."  
  
He raised his hand to slap her, but turned away instead. "Go."  
  
Yulia bit her lip. "You can't keep living like this," she said gently. "If you wanted, you could stay at my flat for a time, to get away from the insanity of the Opera…"  
  
"Go away, Yulia Alexandrovna. Just go."  
  
She moved to touch his shoulder, but withdrew for fear of another out lash. Instead, she offered a smaller gesture of understanding. "You may be more familiar, M. Erik. I—please, don't do anything rash, especially concerning Daaé."  
  
"Go away."  
  
Yulia sighed and went to the boat.  
  
When Yulia climbed out of the mirror, a voice asked, "How long have known about him?"  
  
"Daaé? Oh, um…"  
  
Christine handed Yulia her masquerade mask. "And how long have you been coming into my dressing room like this?"  
  
"Well, you see…"  
  
"I'm not angry, Yulia, but I was so worried about you. He's a mad demon, Yulia! He'll kill you; he'll kill all of us!"  
  
Yulia sighed. "He won't kill you, and I don't care if he kills me."  
  
"Don't talk like that!"  
  
Yulia laughed bitterly. "You're so lucky, Daaé, and you don't realize it. Would you rather be safe or happy?"  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Of course you don't; I don't think I quite do, either. You have two very powerful who think they're in love with you. But, the truth is, I don't think anyone of you really are in love…but what am I rambling on about? I've never been in love, so who am I to talk? Nonsense! All of it! Love makes fools and murderers of the best of us!"  
  
"Yulia, are you alright? Did he hurt you?"  
  
"No, no…not at all. In fact, I must write a letter of apology when I get home!"  
  
"Yulia, he's a monster!"  
  
Yulia sighed. "You're not afraid of him; you're afraid of what he represents to you."  
  
"Yulia, I think you're ill. Please, go home and rest."  
  
"Yes, I must be mad. I've been courting disaster all along!" She grinned slightly. "It would have been a lovely day to die, too, dressed as I am."  
  
"Come on, Yulia. I'll walk you home."  
  
Yulia met her eyes. "You're a good person, Daaé, but you can't make everyone happy."  
  
"Please, Yulia, let's go." 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12  
  
Yulia tapped her pen on her tiny desk. While she had managed to write a rather long apology for her ill-thought-out comments, she still had not managed to find a way to phrase an apology for gasping at the sight of the ghost's face. It wasn't that it really bothered her, it just was not what she had been expecting to see. In any case, it at least explained his strange living habits.  
  
She sighed. Finally, since she couldn't resist, she penned as follows:  
  
Do not worry about what other men deem the value of your appearance; I swear to you, you look like a diamond shining next to the coal that is the tsar and his illusionary reforms!  
  
Yulia grinned. Somehow, she doubted that Erik would that a woman was expressing a political opinion.  
  
She paused as she went to sign her name. She had told him that he could be more familiar.  
  
Deftly, she signed her name "Yulka."  
  
Refusing to look at her signature, she folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. She then went about removing the heavy masquerade make- up and fell asleep.  
  
"Mlle. Kazakova! You're late!"  
  
"I'm sorry, sirs!" Yulia said as she scurried up to the managers.  
  
"This is yours," M. Andre said, handing her a score.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"It's the ghost's opera; you're in the chorus," M. Firmin said.  
  
Yulia paged through Erik's Don Juan Triumphant. "I can't sing this," she said quietly.  
  
"Mademoiselle?"  
  
"I can't sing this! I'm sorry, messieurs, but I most deliver a letter."  
  
"Ha! The little rat thinks she's too good to sing with us!" Carlotta declared.  
  
"Leave her alone," Christine said meekly.  
  
"Perhaps you don't understand, mademoiselle, but this…work is very important to this establishment. Either you sing with us, or your career here will be over," M. Firmin said.  
  
Yulia stiffened. "I shall sing," she said slowly.  
  
Yulia fell on the divan of her dressing the next day, exhausted.  
  
"A wonderful New Year, indeed," she muttered.  
  
"Your apology is accepted, Yulia Alexandrovna."  
  
The girl bolted upright. "Don't scare me like that!"  
  
"My apologies, mademoiselle."  
  
Yulia bit her lip. "Why are you having Christine sing Aminta? I'm not saying she can't sing it, but it's not like her at all…"  
  
"Would you prefer La Carlotta sing it?" he asked ruefully.  
  
Yulia glared at the wall. Agitated, she sang, "'In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent.' M. Erik, you know how innocent and childlike she is! It's just not right to have her sing it…"  
  
"You're questioning my casting?" he demanded.  
  
"Your casting? You mean…oh, please, don't make me perform in this! It's an assault on the senses!"  
  
"Are you criticizing my life's work, Yulia Alexandrovna?"  
  
"You're making a mockery of yourself! And it's cruel to have Daaé sing it! You're using her!"  
  
He sighed. "Stop questioning me, child. Your life would be much simpler if you would just do as say for a short time. I promise you, this will all be over soon, one way or another."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Don't fret; it does not concern you."  
  
"M. Erik, please, understand that I respect you, but sometimes you do the most inexplicable things, and I'm incline to agree with the others that you're a madman in those moments, but, at other times…I don't know what to think of you."  
  
"Don't waste your thoughts on me."  
  
"You should stop hiding," Yulia said, more to herself than to Erik. "You should stop hiding and walk out side like everyone else, without the mask. You could expose the ignorant ones for what they are…it would be a most delightful spectacle."  
  
"You really don't understand people, do you, Yulia Alexandrovna?" he asked sadly.  
  
"No," she replied. "Do you?"  
  
The rehearsals continued at a grueling pace for three weeks, until Christine announced that she had to take a short trip. The managers weren't particularly pleased, but there was little they could do.  
  
Yulia refused to question Daaé about her mysterious trip, and instead spent her time lamenting that whatever relationship she had hoped to establish with the strange phantom was rapidly deteriorating. Added to that was her growing guilt about hurting either Raoul or Christine. She resolved that if her plot was to reach its ultimate conclusion she would have to act quickly, ignoring that fact that her past rash decisions had done her little good. 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13  
  
Yulia paced backstage while Christine and Meg looked on.  
  
"This is ridiculous! Don't you think anyone will notice all the police about?"  
  
"I'm sure that everyone feels this is the best way to protect us…" Meg started.  
  
"Who? Monsieur le Vicomte? Those bumbling managers? And what the hell is the reasoning behind trapping the Opera ghost in the Opera? Does he ever even leave?"  
  
"Calm down, Yulia; this will be over soon." Meg sighed. "Christine, you're as white as a sheet! This will all work out, don't worry…"  
  
Christine's head fell into her hands and started sobbing. "I can't do this! I can't do this!"  
  
"I wonder what would happen if you refused to go on tonight…" Yulia mused.  
  
Carlotta strode up beside them. "What's this? The little angel is crying? This entire affair is a disgrace!"  
  
"Stop it! Can't you see she's upset? There's a great deal of pressure on her!" Meg piped up.  
  
"Oh, yes, by her 'Angel of Music!' At least I earned my position, Christine Daaé!" the diva snapped.  
  
"As has Daaé; there is nothing wrong with receiving instruction," Yulia commented.  
  
"Ah, but there is something wrong when she is elevated due to threats!"  
  
"Just as there is something wrong with a shrill cow throwing her weight around to maintain her position with temper tantrums! Hold your tongue, La Carlotta! We may be on the eve of a new era in this Opera House…Don Juan Triumphant, indeed!" Yulia remarked coldly.  
  
The older woman scowled, but her eyes narrowed on Christine. "You've put us through so much trouble, girl…you had better not embarrass us tonight!"  
  
"Don't listen to her, Christine; she's just jealous," Meg said.  
  
Christine wiped her eyes. "I can't do this…"  
  
"You just don't like the implications," Yulia muttered in Russian.  
  
"What?" Meg asked.  
  
"Nothing," Yulia replied.  
  
The girl sighed. "I need to warm up with the other dancers. Don't worry, Christine; it'll be okay." Little Giry skipped off.  
  
Christine looked up at Yulia for comfort. "You don't think…they'll actually kill, do you?"  
  
"Isn't that what you want? To be free of him?"  
  
"I…don't know…I don't want him to die!"  
  
"Then, what do you want?" Yulia asked.  
  
"I…oh, Yulia, you don't understand! He said he loves me! But, Raoul…"  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
"Who? Raoul? Why, yes, of course!"  
  
"And your angel?"  
  
Christine looked away from her. "He gave me back my soul; he is my voice. And he's a madman…"  
  
"M. Erik…is a very troubled man," Yulia said slowly. "But, I think he…cultivates you."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"What I mean is…you won't…grow with Monsieur le Vicomte."  
  
"I'm doing this for Raoul," Christine said, more to herself than Yulia. "Everything will be alright after this."  
  
Yulia sighed. Christine was in such a pitiful predicament. "In any case," Yulia reminded herself, "you have only yourself, and you must do what you need." She turned to Christine. "You're right, Daaé. Everything will be fine. If you'll permit me, since I'm only on in the first act…"  
  
"Wasn't your part longer?"  
  
"I, um…in any case, changes were made, but, if you'd like, I could go make sure that M. Erik is still…downstairs. Would that help?"  
  
Christine nodded. "Yes! Thank you! But, won't he be in Box Five?"  
  
"If he has half of a brain, no," was Yulia's terse reply.  
  
As Yulia went to go onstage, she found Raoul standing, probably waiting for Christine. Mustering her resolve, she asked, "Pardon me, but may I have a word with you, Raoul?"  
  
Christine straightened her costume. She would get through this. After all, who would want to ruin the opening performance of one's opera? After taking a deep breath, she went to find her fiancé before she would be required on stage. She was about to call out to him, but as she rounded a corner, she was faced with the image of him kissing Yulia. Horrified, she ran back the way she had come, as a sinking feeling swelled up in her chest. Anger and pain mounted within her. How could they do this to her? Raoul would never do this! He loved her! Yulia, on the other hand, was so icy in nature. Yes, the witch had lured her prince away! Then Christine paused with a sudden realization. Perhaps she was being punished. After all, hadn't she done the same to her angel?  
  
"Mlle. Daaé! Why aren't you on stage? Come, come, quickly, girl!" M. Firmin barked, rushing her away.  
  
As the overture began to pound in her ears, Christine was left with no time to ponder her recent discovery.  
  
After the end of the first act, Yulia noticed Christine and Raoul in a heated discussion. Thinking nothing of it, she went to the girl's dressing room to report on the ghost's whereabouts.  
  
When she reached the lake, she ventured across the black water mechanically, refusing to ponder the depth of the underground abyss. As she ventured into Erik's home, she was surprised to find no one there. Surely, even he wouldn't have the audacity to watch the performance from Box 5?  
  
Worried, Yulia quickly headed back to the main level and sought out the managers. About half way into the second act, she stumbled across M. Andre.  
  
"Has anyone seen the ghost, sir?" she asked, breathless.  
  
"No," he muttered. "Why?"  
  
"No reason, I was just concerned…"  
  
"Don't worry, Mlle. Kazakova; if he shows his face, we'll get him."  
  
Yulia laughed bitterly.  
  
"Something is amusing you, Mademoiselle? Do you not realize the extraordinary situation we are in?"  
  
"No, no, it's not that, sir; I just doubt the ghost will show his face!"  
  
Yulia greeted Meg as she came off stage. "It's the final scene; it'll be over and done with, soon, thank God," the little dancer said.  
  
"Yes, and we'll be all the better."  
  
They both jumped as Don Juan's voice boomed at his entrance on stage.  
  
They both turned, staring panic-stricken as the cloaked figure glided its way towards Christine.  
  
"Meg…"  
  
"I know!"  
  
As they continued to watch the scene unfold, Meg remained pale and tense, while Yulia began to feel a bit a jealousy creep up on her. Christine was still acting, as she was probably too preoccupied with acting to notice the phantom's ruse, but Erik certainly was not acting. Yulia sighed wistfully and Meg starred at her.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"What? Oh, the music…that's all."  
  
As the end of the song neared, Christine became aware of the jest, and finally, in a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Christine unmasked the phantom, before the company and the audience.  
  
Meg cringed slightly, and Yulia muttered in disbelief, "Just what the hell was that supposed to accomplish?"  
  
Erik looked more genuinely horrified than the onlookers, and he swept his cloak and ferreted Christine away.  
  
As the majority of the cast rushed on stage in a frenzied state, Yulia pulled back into the shadows. The growing mob was out for blood, and she feared that in their outrage that might well kill Daaé, as well as Erik. Slipping away, she headed for Christine's dressing room. 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14  
  
Yulia settled herself in the passageway from the mirror to Erik's lair, with frustrated tears rolling down her cheeks involuntarily. Even if she went down, she wouldn't be able to make any difference.  
  
All her planning and scheming had been for nothing. She would receive no knowledge or protection from Erik, as he would be dead by the end of the night. As for Daaé, the girl's friendship with her was genuine, and Yulia knew her lies to the child were inexcusable. In any case, the mob would no doubt take her for the Phantom's accomplice. And then there was Raoul. The Vicomte had reacted like a little schoolboy; she had kissed him the way a common harlot would. Any respect he had had for her political mind was certainly gone, as well.  
  
The worst part of the matter was that she cared at all. They were pawns! Even Erik, whom she admired for his genius, was just another worthless person at her disposal. What sort of a fool was she? Cowering in a tunnel while her friends, if she even deserved to call them that, were no doubt being ripped apart at that very moment. It was a disgusting situation she had gotten herself into.  
  
Raoul was too self-assured and pompous, but that was attributable to his noble heritage. He was still a sweet, honorable little boy at heart. Christine was far too naïve and gullible, but she had a sweet and caring nature, and her unwillingness to hurt anyone was probably part of her problem in regards to Raoul and Erik. Yulia sighed. Erik. If ever she needed proof that the world was a cold, dark place, Erik was it. His peculiar nature and episodes of madness were clearly the result of humanity's treatment of him. And yet, despite all that, there was something darkly alluring about him. Yulia was forced to admit to herself, however, that had he lacked his enormous intellect, she would have treated him with the same horrified distain the rest of the world had.  
  
Disgusted with herself and emotionally exhausted, Yulia curled up by her lamp in the passageway and fell asleep.  
  
Meg Giry found herself continually looking over her shoulder as she crept home, a delicate treasure wrapped in her cloak. Every face she saw seemed malicious as she scurried through the night back to her small home.  
  
When she finally stepped through the door, she sighed with relief. Her childish trust in the goodness of the human race had been greatly diminished as she had watched the frenzied company tear their the Opera ghost's underground dwelling.  
  
"Meg?" Mme. Giry called. "Oh, thank God you're alright!"  
  
Her mother embraced her tightly, which shocked the ballet rat slightly.  
  
Mme. Giry quickly regained her exacting manner. "Meg, didn't I tell not to go down there? You could've been injured, or worse…"  
  
Wordlessly, Meg unwrapped the cloth of her cloak to reveal the porcelain mask to her mother.  
  
"Meg…"  
  
"Where is Christine?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"And Raoul?"  
  
"I don't…"  
  
"The…ghost?"  
  
Mme. Giry shook her head. "No one knows, Meg. I'm sorry."  
  
The girl sank into a chair. "They're okay. They have to be," she said.  
  
"My child, I—let's wait until morning, shall we? I'm sure everything will be in a brighter light, then."  
  
Meg nodded and obeyed.  
  
"Please just try to get some rest, Christine; you'll feel better in the morning," Raoul said as Christine surveyed the guest room she had been given at her fiancé's estate.  
  
She turned to him and stated, "You're angry with me."  
  
"No, I'm not. Christine, I'm just relieved you got out of there safely! It'll be okay, now. We're together."  
  
"Why? Why are you angry?"  
  
"I—" He sighed. "The way you kissed him, and held him…it was a shock. But it's all right! You saved us!"  
  
"Oh." Christine sat on the bed. "But, you can kiss Yulia?"  
  
Raoul stepped back. "Christine? You think I kissed her? Christine, I love you! It was Mlle. Kazakova who—"  
  
Christine raised her hand. "I'm sorry, Raoul. Tonight has been…please, I just want some rest."  
  
He nodded. "I understand." He kissed her on the forward and left.  
  
The young woman sighed. She only wanted a simple life; why were things so complicated? She couldn't marry Raoul; she would not be reduced to being a trophy wife. She couldn't go back to the Opera, either. That much was certain.  
  
Christine's eyes began to well up with tears. She had nothing, neither a career nor a husband. She was alone and had nothing left to live for. She curled up into a fetal position, hugging her pillow.  
  
Yulia woke up in the dark with a very stiff neck. Remembering what had happened, she triggered the mirror, re-lit her lamp, and rushed down to the lair, even forgoing her usual hesitation about the boat.  
  
Yulia was horrified when she saw the state of Erik's abode; it was worse than she had thought it would be.  
  
"M. Erik!" she called.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Please, sir! Please come out! Please be alive…"  
  
"Your concern is truly touching, Yulia Alexandrovna," a voice drawled.  
  
"M. Erik? Please, come out!"  
  
"Come out? How? You can't see ghosts, Mademoiselle."  
  
"You're not dead! I swear, I won't tell a soul you're still here! Please, show yourself!"  
  
She felt an icy hand on her bare shoulder, as she was still in her costume from Don Juan.  
  
Yulia spun around to see a drained, unmasked phantom.  
  
"Content, Yulia Alexandrovna?" he asked wearily.  
  
"Erik, you idiot!" She hugged him, and he quickly pulled away.  
  
"Mademoiselle?"  
  
"Please, you can't stay here. Come with me; you'll be safe at my flat. Please, M. Erik…"  
  
"I will not put you at risk. In any case, I have no use for your sympathy; you can't replace what I've lost."  
  
"Your home?"  
  
He shook his head. "I have no home, certainly not this underground prison. Go home, child; forget me."  
  
"I won't think less of you if you accept my help. Please, you can't stay down here!"  
  
"I shall do what I see fit, Yulia Alexandrovna!"  
  
Yulia backed down. "Forgive me my intrusion; I know you hate to be bothered, but if you ever need anything, anything at all, I would gladly—"  
  
"Erik!"  
  
They both turned to see a flustered Christine.  
  
Yulia's stomach fell to the floor. What was Daaé doing here?  
  
She approached them. "Erik, forgive me. I shouldn't have been so…childish."  
  
"Christine, you never have to ask for my forgiveness. I will always…" He remembered his mask was gone and turned away from her, covered his face with his hands.  
  
"It's okay," Christine said quietly.  
  
He turned to her slowly. "Christine?"  
  
"Erik, I'll…I'll…" She took a breath and bowed her head. "I'll be your wife."  
  
Yulia's jaw dropped, but Erik was so overcome with genuine joy he didn't seem to want to notice or acknowledge her hesitation. The man fell at the chorus girl's feet, sobbing from happiness.  
  
Yulia gritted her teeth, but then said convincingly, "I'm happy for you. I'll…go now. Best of luck…" She began to fumble out of the lair.  
  
"Yulka!"  
  
She turned to face Erik, shocked that he had finally addressed her as such. "Yes?"  
  
"T-thank you."  
  
Yulia nodded and then fled, her conflicting emotions eating away at her.  
  
Yulia fell on her bed, crying hysterically. It wasn't fair! Daaé was supposed to look for comfort, not marriage! Now they'd be together, and she knew she had no right to infringe on that happiness. At least Erik would finally be happy.  
  
Yulia wiped her eyes. Christine had looked dead. Then again, it was probably because of some fight with Raoul.  
  
"So be it," Yulia thought bitterly, "let them be happy. I'll win his favor by singing. Even if he doesn't care for me, he'll care for my voice. I'll be the best singer in France!"  
  
"No, that isn't right. Why should I care what he thinks of me? I'll go home…"  
  
The girl began sorting out her situation. Christine and Erik would be married. She wasn't in love with the man, and she couldn't be counted as friend to either of them. It was merely vexing that, Yulia knew, Christine was not ready for such a commitment, to anyone.  
  
She sighed. "At least they're alive," she thought. With that thought, she fell into a restless sleep. 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15  
  
Yulia set her book down when she heard a knock at her door. She was mildly surprised to see little Meg Giry standing before her.  
  
"Yulia? May I come in?" she asked, sounding greatly distressed.  
  
Yulia motioned for her to enter and both young women sat down.  
  
"Yulia, no one has seen Christine in over a week! Not even Monsieur le Vicomte! I don't know what to do…have you heard anything?"  
  
"No," Yulia said, calmly picking up her book and paging through it.  
  
"What are you reading that's more important than Christine?" Meg demanded.  
  
"Romeo and Juliet. It's quite a silly story, really. Romeo's a silly young boy, and Juliet's not even fourteen. They decide to marry after seeing each other for a few hours. They die for an illusionary love! It's ridiculous!"  
  
Meg glared at her. "Do you have any idea where Christine is? Please, Yulia, this is important!"  
  
"'My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I must love a loathed enemy.'" The dark-haired woman laughed ironically at the last line.  
  
"Yulia Kazakova!" Meg cried, throwing her small hands up in disgust. "Christine is a dear friend to me, please…"  
  
Yulia put her book down. "It is interesting…comparing the English with the Russian…it doesn't sound quite right in Russian, let alone in French…but, no, I haven't seen Christine since her abduction from the set of Don Juan."  
  
"Why are you so…uncaring all of a sudden? I thought we—Christine, Raoul, and you—were becoming friends, but now…you're back to your old self. I liked the new you, better," Meg said sadly.  
  
"This is the new me; the Yulia Alexandrovna that's finished with childish schemes. Don't worry; I won't be staying in Paris much longer."  
  
"You're going back to Russia?"  
  
"No…I'm waiting for money from a cousin in America; I'll be staying with her, for a time."  
  
Meg nodded. "The managers would let you come back to the Opera, you know. If you'd only sing with a bit a heart, you could become famous."  
  
"I have no such ambitions. Is your business finished here, Mlle. Giry?"  
  
Meg pouted. "I suppose so. In any case, there's something I have to return to someone. Good day, Yulia."  
  
"Goodbye, Meg."  
  
Later, while Yulia was preparing an early supper, another knock came to her door.  
  
"Yes, what is it? I'm cooking—oh, hello, Raoul. My, two of my limited circle of friends in one day."  
  
"Have you heard from Christine?" he asked, pale.  
  
"And with the same question. Come in, Monsieur. No, I've not heard from her. If you'd permit me to keep watch on that wretched little stove in there…"  
  
Raoul picked up the tome with the Russian title as Yulia tended to her dinner.  
  
"An English-Russian edition, Mademoiselle Kazakova? Curious. I didn't know you were a literary enthusiast."  
  
"I think Mercutio is quite humorous."  
  
"'A visor for a visor,' indeed," Raoul mumbled in competent English. "Yulia, you have no idea how worried I am. My Juliet's flown away, without warning or explanation."  
  
"As ladybirds often do," Yulia remarked wryly. "Would you like some soup, Raoul?"  
  
He sighed. "No, thank you. Perhaps I shall sample your cooking on another occasion."  
  
Yulia smiled. "You wanted a story-book romance and ended up with a mystery tale. Poor boy. It will all work out for the best, I'm sure."  
  
He looked up at her mournfully. "I feel ill without her. I love her…"  
  
"I don't doubt that. Your love for her is pure and innocent, just like hers is for you. But there are dark things in the world, Monsieur, and your love for each other must be strong enough to face them. Christine is so child-like; I'm sure she was frightened of the prospect of being a bride. She'll come running back to you any day now, I'm sure. Just don't lose your faith in her."  
  
He stood up. "Thank you, Yulia."  
  
Yulia actually felt content. She had consoled him; consoled with lies, but still consoled him. Hoping against hope was a great human quality, though a detrimental one. "You're welcome, Raoul. Take care, will you?"  
  
"I shall. Thank you, Yulia. Good night."  
  
"Good night." Yulia sighed and brought her book out to her tiny kitchen.  
  
"Pretty little girl lying dead in a cold tomb…how wonderfully macabre," she mused as she served herself the soup.  
  
Meg changed hastily after rehearsal. She removed a bundle of cloth from her tiny dresser and tucked it underneath her shall. Her mother would fall into fits if she knew what her impetuous little girl were attempting. Still, Meg kept feeling a nagging at the back of her mind to return the porcelain mask she had swiped on the opening night of the phantom's opera. She readied herself and slipped along the route she had followed half-way with her mother the viscount to whatever awaited her below. 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16  
  
Meg surveyed the destruction around her. Even if the phantom had been living there before, the space was hardly habitable now.  
  
She shivered in the eerie silence. She could still make out a fascinating beauty that the place would have held before the mob came. Regretfully, she placed the stark porcelain mask on the throne-like chair she had removed it from before.  
  
Meg bit her lip; she felt like crying. The once gorgeous piece of furniture had been hacked and torn.  
  
"Trespassing again, Mademoiselle Giry?"  
  
Yulia looked at the heap of papers that was her new project. She did not know how long it would take for her cousin's mail to reach her, and, having refused to return to the Opera, had taken up writing one of her own.  
  
Granted, Yulia didn't know the first thing about actually writing music, but she could write a highly embellished, dramatic libretto.  
  
While the young woman toyed with the idea of sneaking the currently script down to Erik's home before she left (after all, she reasoned, he would eventually get bored with timid little Christine), Raoul rapped rather loudly on her door.  
  
Irritated, she opened it, "What do you want—oh, Monsieur le Vicomte, come in."  
  
"Yulia, Meg was supposed to meet me after her rehearsal, but—"  
  
"You can't find her? Why does everyone always assume the person he or she is looking for is at my flat? I'm not that hospitable!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Yulia, but even Mme. Giry doesn't know where she is!"  
  
"Well, that's two young women gone since the phantom's lair was raided; perhaps his ghost is trying to tell you something."  
  
"That's not funny, Mlle. Kazakova," Raoul said gravely.  
  
Yulia grinned. "Don't worry; I'm sure she'll turn up, eventually. Any news on Daaé?"  
  
"No," he said glumly. "What's that?"  
  
"I'm writing a slightly…facetious opera. Well, the words to one, anyway."  
  
"About what?" he asked, bracing himself for what Yulia's perverse mind had conjured up this time.  
  
"An impetuous princess wants to become a knight, but since she only sees good in the world, she's manipulated by both a sorcerer and a young prince. In the end, she fails, because she's living in a dream."  
  
"That's not facetious; that's depressing."  
  
"It's…a metaphor."  
  
"Oh," Raoul said, missing Yulia's intent.  
  
"In any case, it's not finished…it won't be for a while…perhaps, half way by the time I have to leave…" she mused to herself.  
  
"I think…we all live in dreams, to an extent, and I don't think we should be faulted for that," Raoul said after a long silence.  
  
Yulia stared at him. "We fault people for it every day; it makes them weak. The world is harsh…"  
  
"Then, what's wrong with at least pretending that there's some good in it. Truthfully, Yulia, there is good out there, and you'd be much happier if you'd stop living in your dream and see it."  
  
"Your dream is to have Daaé as your wife; I don't think she's coming back. I'm sorry."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"She has the world at her feet, whether she realizes it, or not. It's not your concern."  
  
"You know where she is!" he accused.  
  
"No. I just know she's not coming back."  
  
The poor boy looked ill. "I love her…" he said.  
  
"I know; all of Paris knows! Love isn't one-sided; it's too much work. You're better off on your own."  
  
"But…I fought to save her…I would've died for her…I still would!"  
  
"You look frightful; I'll make some tea."  
  
Meg spun around and froze for a moment as she stared at the unmasked phantom.  
  
"Monsieur, I—" she mumbled as she dashed to hand him his mask.  
  
He fingered it oddly, regarding the object with a mix of contempt and sanctity. "Thank you," he said.  
  
"I'll be going now…"  
  
"There's no need! Christine will be delighted to see you!" He grabbed her wrist pulled her into a hidden room, which was decorated like a plush bedroom.  
  
Christine was sitting on the bed, dressed in white with her back turned.  
  
"Christine, my dear, your friend Meg is here. Won't you say hello?"  
  
The young woman didn't move.  
  
"Why is she here?" Meg asked quietly, bewildered.  
  
"You don't know? My, Yulia Alexandrovna kept her mouth shut…Christine and I have been married!"  
  
He waited for her to respond, and the ballet rat managed to fumbled out "Congratulations."  
  
"Now, you won't tell the management, I'm sure? Of course you won't! You know what would happen if you did…No! No! I wouldn't hurt you…but, we're leaving very soon, you see. I can't have my bride living down here, away from sunlight…"  
  
"May I speak to Christine alone, Monsieur?" Meg asked timidly.  
  
"Of course! Forgive me! You'll see the door from in here…"  
  
"Yes, I understand. Thank you." With the door shut, Meg blurted, "My God, Christine, what have you done? And he…he's acting like a drunkard!"  
  
"He's happy," Christine said dully, still not moving from her position.  
  
Meg walked around the bed to face her friend. "Christine, you look dreadful! What has he done to you?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"And…you're married? Legally married?"  
  
Christine nodded slowly. "He frightens me…he does whatever I ask of him, it's really quite pathetic…he treats me like a goddess. But, oh, it's not his face! He's a murderer! No matter how kind he is to me, he's a murderer, and liar, and…he thinks I'm happy. I act like I am, but I feel dead! I can't live down here, Meg…He thinks I love him, too…he mistakes pity and compassion for love! But, he' s never known love…so how would he be able to know the difference? Oh, Meg, I don't know what to do! And I'm his wife! God forgive me, I'm his wife!"  
  
"How did this happen?"  
  
Christine looked at her blankly. "I came back."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't know…I suppose I was nervous about marrying Raoul…but, oh Meg, I've made a mess of everything! I have to get out of here, but…he'll…It's hopeless!"  
  
"You know it wouldn't be safe to go back to Monsieur le Vicomte."  
  
"I know," Christine said miserably.  
  
"I might have an idea, but you'd have to leave Paris," Meg said slowly.  
  
"Anything! Oh, Meg, I care for him; he was my teacher, but I can't live like this!"  
  
Meg nodded. "Ask him if I can come visit tomorrow."  
  
Christine obeyed, and, with permission granted, Meg headed off to Yulia's small home.  
  
Yulia put her pen down and stretched her cramped back. What had started out as a slight parody was becoming rather dark, even by her standards. She looked up to find that it was half past eleven, and she wisely chose to prepare for bed.  
  
As she unpinned her hair, she heard a light tapping at her door. Scowling, she opened it. "Meg Giry! Does no Parisian call at decent hours? Why does no one realize I want to be left alone—"  
  
"Let me in! This is important!" the little dancer snapped, forcing Yulia to cease her ranting.  
  
While Yulia tied her dark hair back with a piece of ribbon, Meg demanded, "How long have you known Christine was with the phantom?"  
  
"Since she returned and offered to marry him."  
  
"You've known all along? Why didn't you say anything? You lied to us!"  
  
"Yes, I did. I was told to. Besides, Daaé and Erik is much more interesting than Daaé and the Vicomte."  
  
Meg glared at her. "Yulia, she's terribly unhappy. I need to ask a favor…"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The money and ticket your cousin is sending you…I need to give it to Christine."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"She's miserable! He frightens her!"  
  
Yulia sighed. "She made an adult decision to marry him, and as an adult it's her responsibility to live up to whatever vows she has taken. Besides, if, instead of me, a pregnant Swedish girl shows up at Tanya's…"  
  
"Don't say such a thing!" Meg exclaimed in horror.  
  
"Say what?"  
  
"That…that she might be with child…"  
  
Yulia laughed bitterly. "She's married. Again, it was her choice. If she wants to leave Paris and leave him, she'll have to do it on her own; I'm not her keeper."  
  
"Yulia, please, you've got to help her!"  
  
"Get money from Raoul if she needs passage so badly!"  
  
"Raoul can't know!" Meg hissed.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Meg shook her head. "Yulia, please! I'm worried that she might hurt herself…"  
  
"Giry, this is my only chance to leave Paris; to leave Europe, for that matter. I—"  
  
"Please?" she pleaded.  
  
Yulia's eyes softened. "I'll think about it." 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17  
  
"Thank you both for having me over; you really shouldn't go through this trouble…" Yulia said appropriately.  
  
"It's no trouble at all; your presence has been missed at the Opera," Mme. Giry said with polite formality.  
  
"Not much, though, probably. Tell me, what is the company working on now?"  
  
"Faust," the older woman answered.  
  
"Ah. How…fitting."  
  
"Yulia's planning on leaving us for good, Mother. She wants to go to America," Meg muttered.  
  
"You have family there?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"I trust your dinner is suitable?" Mme. Giry asked.  
  
"Oh, yes, Madame! I've been eating soup since the Don Juan rehearsals started!"  
  
Yulia and Mme. Giry continued their stiff conversation throughout the meal while Meg sulked. When her mother went about cleaning up the table, Meg dragged Yulia into a small sitting room.  
  
"Yulia, it's been four days! Have you decided, yet?"  
  
"I received my money and ticket in the post, today," Yulia said nonchalantly.  
  
"And?" Meg demanded.  
  
"I need to speak to Daaé. In any case, I wanted to show Erik the text I've been writing…something to assume himself with."  
  
"Yulia, please…for Christine's sake…"  
  
"You may come with me, of course. After all, she's your friend."  
  
"I thought she was yours, as well."  
  
"Misperceptions abound in France, don't they?"  
  
Yulia, totting a rather awkward bad, waited impatiently for Meg's practice to end. When the dancer finally appeared, Yulia pulled her in the direction of Christine's dressing room.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"To M. Erik's house."  
  
"How? There's another way…"  
  
"Considering that nearly the entire company went that way, he's probably blocked it up by now. Besides, this is the only way I know."  
  
Again, Christine's dressing was still unlocked, even though no one was using it. Meg watched in amazement as Yulia triggered the mirror.  
  
Getting across the lake was another matter. They found a broken down skiff wedged between several large rocks, and Yulia prayed silently as Meg daringly paddled their way across.  
  
Once inside the home, Meg began to tremble slightly. "It looks like it's been tidied up a bit…perhaps they left…"  
  
"No, he's probably lurking behind us somewhere. M. Erik! It's Meg and Yulia! Meg said you'd allow us to visit Daaé!"  
  
"Visitors again? I'm becoming quite the socialite," a sarcastic voice drawled.  
  
Meg's eyes darted around the room, but Yulia said calmly, "Stop this nonsense. I have something for you."  
  
Instead of the opera ghost, Christine walked out of what appeared to be a wall. "Good day to both of you. What brings you here?"  
  
"Little Giry wants me to discuss something with your privately. I also have something I'd like to show your husband."  
  
Christine and Meg flinched. "Follow me; when we're done speaking in my room, I'm sure Erik will speak with you, Yulia."  
  
They followed Christine into her hidden bedroom.  
  
"The ticket, Yulia? Do you have the ticket?" Christine asked frantically.  
  
"Yes, I have it."  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
"Well, give it to her, then!" Meg demanded.  
  
"No."  
  
"But, Yulia, why?" Christine asked.  
  
"You're not running out him again, especially as his wife! It would be cruel. I'll give you the ticket and the money only if you tell him you're leaving. Don't look at me like that! You must take responsibility for what you've done!"  
  
"He'll never let me leave," Christine stated.  
  
"Does he love you? He let you leave before."  
  
"I can't ask that…you've never seen him angry! It's terrifying!"  
  
"I won't let you just slip out. Tell him the truth."  
  
"I can't!" Christine cried.  
  
"Yulia, consider the position she's in…" Meg started.  
  
"I have. I've also considered the position M. Erik is in, as well as my own. Christine, I'm telling to you ask permission; I merely want you to explain your intent."  
  
"You don't understand!"  
  
"Stop being so childish!"  
  
Christine glared at her. "I wouldn't be in this position if not for you!"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
The girl turned away from them. "I saw Raoul kissing you!"  
  
"What?" Meg squeaked.  
  
Yulia commented with slight amusement, "So, that's why you ran back down here, even though you hate him? You wouldn't just confront your fiancé? Christine, I kissed him; it wasn't his choice."  
  
"I don't hate him…"  
  
"But, you must hate me for what I've done to you. That's acceptable, I suppose, since I don't regret it."  
  
"I don't hate you; I pity you."  
  
"You pity a great many people, Daaé."  
  
"Please, Mlle. Kazakova, the ticket!"  
  
"You'll tell him, first?" Yulia asked.  
  
Christine nodded. When she opened the door, the phantom was revealed, calmly waiting for them.  
  
"You enjoyed your visit, Christine?" he asked gently.  
  
White as a sheet, she nodded, trembling slightly.  
  
"Daaé has a question for you, M. Erik, "Yulia said coolly.  
  
"It's more a request…" Christine mumbled.  
  
"What is it? Anything I can do for you…"  
  
Christine met his eyes, seeing the pure adoration they held for her. She opened her mouth to speak, withdrew, then bowed her head and asked submissively, "May I go visit Yulia and Meg tomorrow, at Yulia's flat? It is quite troublesome for them to venture down here, not to mention if they were to be caught…"  
  
Yulia eyes the former chorus girl suspiciously, then turned her attentions to her husband. "M. Erik, I've attempted to write an opera. I'll be leaving Paris soon, and I certainly don't have the knowledge to write the music for it. So, I was wondering, if only to assume yourself…"  
  
"Let me see it," he said crisply.  
  
Yulia reached in her bag and produced the large stack of hand-written papers.  
  
He paged through it swiftly. "In Russian, Mademoiselle?" he commented at last.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Your lyrics are…inventive."  
  
"Thank you," Yulia said, not sure if it was a compliment.  
  
"My dear, your friends must be tired; it is quite late." She made no response. "Christine, say goodbye to Meg and Yulia Alexandrovna."  
  
"Oh. Goodbye."  
  
Meg looked at Christine with empathy and concern. Yulia, on the other hand, walked over near Erik.  
  
"I'll be leaving to live with my cousin, soon. I doubt I'll be able to come down here again. You may do with the script as you wish. I suppose I'll be seeing Daaé tomorrow, but, as for you, Monsieur le Fantome…"  
  
She reached up and kissed him gently, but he quickly pushed her away.  
  
"Yulia Alexandrovna!"  
  
The young woman laughed. "You have my sympathies, M. Erik, for so many things…da svidanya. Come along, Meg."  
  
Meg, though thoroughly mortified, followed Yulia out of the labyrinth with out question, this time taking the ghost's boat as opposed to the dingy skiff.  
  
As they each headed home, Meg asked, "You're going to give her the ticket tomorrow, aren't you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"But, Yulia…!"  
  
"I'm going to America, and Daaé is staying here with Erik! She made her choice! She's living with a passionate genius…"  
  
"She's the wife of a murderer! Yulia, you can't just abandon her like that!"  
  
"Would you like me to inform Raoul?"  
  
"No! He'll just rush in there, and…"  
  
"It's Christine's life. She had an opportunity to leave, and she didn't take it."  
  
"Then…what will you do tomorrow? She's coming over."  
  
"I'll serve her refreshments like a proper hostess."  
  
"You are the most under-handed, cold-hearted, deceitful woman…"  
  
"We all have our reasons for acting the way we do."  
  
"You're impossible!"  
  
"No. I'm just a fatalist."  
  
Yulia lay awake in bed, mulling over the recent events. With her original scheme in shambles, she pondered whether or not to attempt to continue playing the game.  
  
If she gave Daaé her ticket, she would never have to worry about her again. Raoul would never know, and Erik would be alone. She sighed. She wasn't in love with him, she knew; if she was, she would never send Christine away. Still, wasn't Christine lying to him just as bad? In any case, at best he tolerated her. He hadn't kissed her back; he had simply pushed her away.  
  
It was all pointless. She was going to America; no pity for either Christine or Erik would stop that. 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18  
  
"Yulia, please, I beg you! Let me stay here!"  
  
"No! I'm selling my flat! I need the money," Yulia said.  
  
Christine looked at her with desperation. "Erik has so many things…if I asked, surely, he'd let me give them to you. He has jewels from Persia! Silks from the Orient! Please, Yulia, anything you ask…"  
  
"I ask that you stop this insanity and show some respect for you husband."  
  
"Yulia, what do you think he is? A demigod? I thought he was an angel, but he's a murderer…"  
  
"And your husband. You freely consented to marry; offered to, really. He let you go. You returned of your own free will. Grow up, God damn you!"  
  
They stared at each other for a moment.  
  
"How's the soup?" Yulia asked.  
  
"Fine. Very well seasoned," Christine replied.  
  
Yulia sipped her wine while Christine twiddled her thumbs.  
  
"Where is Meg? She's usually not late."  
  
Yulia shrugged.  
  
Christine sighed. "You didn't answer my question. What do you think of Erik?"  
  
"What do you think I think of him?" Yulia asked, arching a brow.  
  
"Are you in love with him, or you do simply enjoy kissing the men I'm associated with?" Christine asked with uncharacteristic sharpness.  
  
Yulia leaned back in her chair. "I find him…amusing. He fascinates me. Other men are so dull. You're lucky, Daaé. He won't reduce you to merely his property, his trophy, like other men. You can at least be grateful to him for that. Besides, he gave you your voice. Granted, you had talent, but he was the spark that ignited the flame, so to speak."  
  
"He's mad. No sane man would lurk about underground…Lord, what have I done?"  
  
"There's no genius without a hint of madness," Yulia remarked.  
  
"Erik told me to give you a message, a 'bit of wisdom,' as he called it. He doesn't want you to make a fool of yourself in America."  
  
"I've been studying English."  
  
"He said, 'a sharp tongue does not always mean a sharp wit.'"  
  
"Well, I'm sure M. Erik said that, as there's no way you could've come up with that on your own."  
  
"You're so rude! I come here as your guest—"  
  
"You invited yourself over!"  
  
Christine stood up. "Forgive me, Yulia; you're a wonderful cook, but no food is worth this amount of insult…"  
  
She was interrupted by a loud banging on Yulia's door.  
  
"What is it now—oh, hello, Meg," Yulia said.  
  
Meg ran right past her hostess and up to Christine. "Christine! Oh, Christine!" she cried, clearly upset.  
  
"Meg, what is it?" Christine asked, concerned.  
  
"Mother just told me…"  
  
"What is it? Is the Opera bankrupt?" Yulia asked.  
  
"Yulia," Christine warned gravely.  
  
"Oh, Christine, it's Raoul! He's dead!"  
  
"Oh, my God! What did Erik—"  
  
The little dancer shook her head. "It wasn't the Opera ghost; he shot himself!"  
  
Christine fell on the floor, sobbing hysterically. Yulia and Meg helped her into the tiny parlor.  
  
"Why? Why would he do such a thing?"  
  
"He loved you, and you left without reason or notice. Do you understand how fragile men are, now? If I let you go to America in my place, Erik would do the same! You'd have the blood of two men on your hands!"  
  
"It's not my fault!" Christine cried.  
  
"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction," Yulia stated. "Besides, I suppose it was his choice." She sat down next to Christine. "He did seem rather depressed. I'm sorry, Daaé; I know you cared about him," she said with genuine sympathy.  
  
"I loved him—no, I didn't. I didn't love him until I back to Erik and realized what I'd lost. Oh, dear God! Why did this happen? I can't go back…I can't live with no one to turn to…"  
  
"You have me!" Meg said, hugging her.  
  
"What'll I tell Erik? He'll think I'm unhappy with him and…and…I don't know what he'll do!"  
  
"But, you are unhappy with him."  
  
Meg glared at Yulia.  
  
"He was my friend…" Christine said quietly.  
  
"Oh, Christine if there's anything I can do…" Meg offered.  
  
Christine shook her head and wiped her eyes. "No. I…I can handle this on my own; I have to. Erik can't know."  
  
"He probably does, already," Yulia said.  
  
"If he does, I doubt he'll tell me. So…I can't let him know I know."  
  
"Oh, Christine…you can't stay down there with him! I'll ask Mother if you can stay with us…"  
  
"M. Erik knows where you live, and Daaé is his wife. Christine, you need to talk to Erik about this."  
  
"He won't understand!"  
  
"Does he love you?"  
  
"He frightens me…"  
  
"Does he love you?" Yulia demanded.  
  
"I suppose…but he's mad!"  
  
Yulia threw her arms up in disgust. "Would you like me to speak with him?"  
  
"No!" Christine cried.  
  
Meg looked glumly at the floor. "I'm sorry, Christine; we don't have the money to get to safely from here."  
  
"Oh, Meg…you don't have to do anything…"  
  
"Because I'm expected to?" Yulia asked.  
  
Meg glared at her.  
  
"She has to take responsibility—"  
  
"If you were in her situation you'd be trying to get out, too! Even now, you're running away!" Meg snapped.  
  
"Please, stop…both of you," Christine pleaded.  
  
"Christine, please, come with me. You need to at least rest for a while."  
  
"I…I can't stay long. Erik has been making preparations for a secluded residence…to get away from the city, from people…I don't know where…Oh, Meg…but, if I go with you…what will he do? Dear God, help me, help me…"  
  
"It is better to ask for resolve and strength than favors," Yulia said as gently as she could manage.  
  
"I have to go back…he can't see I've been crying…"  
  
Yulia and Meg helped Christine to her feet.  
  
"There. Better, now?" Yulia inquired.  
  
Christine nodded slightly.  
  
"She doesn't love him!" Meg exclaimed.  
  
"She doesn't have to; she merely has to treat him with proper respect and kindness. That will be sufficient."  
  
"Sufficient?" Christine repeated, uncertain. "How long can I bear to live like this?" She looked from Yulia to Meg, her eyes begging them for answers she could accept.  
  
No such answer came. Yulia apologized to both of them, and Meg silently walked Christine back to the Opera.  
  
A week later, Yulia peered out over the deck and breathed in the salty air. Her cousins were far from wealthy, but they had managed to afford a second class ticket for her, which was a far step above those poor wretches down in third class. While she had saved the majority of the money from the sale of her flat, she had bought an expensive looking new outfit for her arrival in the New World.  
  
Her loose hair blew her face as she pondered over the situation she had left behind her. The young Vicomte was dead. Despite his flaws, Yulia couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt over what could have been a happy ending for him, a happy ending for him and Christine. The chorus girl was now married to the man that had both inspired her and terrified her. When she had departed, Daaé seemed only to recall the terror, and was living in a waking nightmare, to her mind. And Erik didn't know. Yulia knew that he had and would continue to go out of his way to make his young bride happy, and Christine would do her best to keep him in his dream world, because, as long as he was happy, she felt a bit safer.  
  
It was cruel twist of fate that her plan had failed. If things had gone her way, Raoul and Christine would be married and she would be with Erik, as a student and companion; Yulia had craved a protector. However, now, instead of her cynicism, Yulia was bringing a newfound confidence with her rather than arrogance. She knew she was at least partly responsible for the situation Christine now faced, and she couldn't rationalize her way out of it.  
  
And that was fine. Her parting words to Christine were that of an apology, which was not only for the argument that had occurred.  
  
Yulia sighed. She doubted she would ever know what would become of Christine and her Angel of Music, and that suited her just fine. Christine would either mature, or another tragedy would take place.  
  
In either case, neither scenario involved Yulia or her meddling.  
  
She pulled out the small bouquet of roses she had bought before boarding to perfume her tiny shared cabin. She picked one red rose out and tossed it over the side into the sea.  
  
"Happily ever after, indeed."  
  
  
  
~Fin 


End file.
